Heroes of Science
by Dark Mirage1
Summary: You will never forget the Eleanor Singer Memorial Fountain.


2000Heroes of Science18

_**2000**_

Paul Breedlove 

"Paul, if you insist upon bringing a film crew onto the grounds, I cannot begin to effect the level of security Genomex now requires."

Mason was so intense. He had been an intensive young man when I hired him. He was no less intense more than fifteen years later.

"Thomasina Hobson thought my being interviewed by "Heroes of Science would be good exposure for the company."

"Who the Hell is Thomasina Hobson?"

"She's in charge of Public Relations. She's been with us about two years now. She's been working on improving the image of Genomex within the community and throughout the biotech industry."

He did not reply immediately. He was too angry.

"Paul, Genomex doe not need attention from the community or the biotech industry. What we could use is invisibility, an underground facility invulnerable to electronic snooping. The less anyone knows about our business, the better. Does this Thomasina person know our real business?"

"Of course not."

"Very wise."

Mason sounded sarcastic. I made a mental note to review his current medications and dosages to determine if any combination of drugs might be making him more highly strung…although his typical state was highly strung.

"They'll only be inside the complex for a few days. Much of the interview will be at my home, in Eleanor's rose garden."

"Why not do all of it there? We don't know when Adam will drop by for another shopping expedition."

I found Adam's raid yesterday entertaining and gutsy. After no contact in nearly two years, Adam had invaded Genomex with three older mutants and stolen a variety of laboratory supplies and equipment, items difficult to come by through legitimate channels. He must be setting up a lab somewhere.

I was entertained, but the people working in the areas he invaded were frightened and angry. In response to Adam's shopping expedition, Mason was now (rightly) deploying armed security agents openly, although they had been present for at least four months.

"I'll do as much as I can at my home, but they were interested in showing their audience was science looks like, not just photograph me talking."

"Are you prepared to explain the science and the looks of a cast-off, out of control mutant child?"

"Your people will have to intercept any such children."

Once again, a long silence. Mason never mentioned his son or daughters, and gave every appearance of having no more to do with them than to deposit money into accounts managed by his attorney. I didn't believe it, because I knew what they meant to him before…the incident, but I said nothing. For whatever reason, he wanted people to think he did not care about them. His undisguised anger at the plight of the throw-away mutant children convinced me otherwise. When these children became too dangerous or destructive to keep at home, some parents dumped them at the front entrance of Genomex, like some people did with pets that became too much trouble. Mason could not care that much about the children of strangers, but not about his own.

"Intercept?"

"An unfortunate choice of words. You'll have to do the best you can."

"Station armed men at the front door?"

"Certainly not. As a matter of fact, I want the armed guards out of sight when the film crew is here."

"Make pretty for Thomasina."

"Yes."

"And…I ask that you stay out of sight as well, or wear jeans and a more…plausible wig for few days. Your appearance is singular. Someone will ask questions."

"You're not making this easy."

"I have confidence in you."

He said something inaudible, and I was not sorry I could not hear the words distinctly.

"With security compromised so many ways, I make no promises."

There was a knock on the doorframe. I was much relieved to see Lili standing in the doorway behind Mason.

"Excuse me for interrupting…Dr Breedlove, you wanted to see these results as soon as they were available."

"You're not interrupting, Dr Chen; we're done. I will do what I can, Paul."

Mason turned and left. He could be very quiet when he wished. I had reports of him wandering all over the complex late at night, dodging his own security, and I wondered what that was about. I would never get the answer from him.

**Rebecca Steyn**

When the atrium formed at the intersection of two main corridors of the Genomex complex began to be transformed into water gardens complete with waterfalls and koi, most everyone was suitably impressed. Plenty of seating made the area attractive for lunch, or just a break from the lab. Samihah and I began bringing lunch from home as an alternative to the cafeteria.

Watching the koi dart over the carefully selected stones and water plants was vastly more soothing than the décor of the cafeteria. The DNA double helix light fixtures there always struck me as…tacky. The bright primary colors of the base pairs did not help. They had to be custom made, and must have cost a fortune.

So, as the koi settled in, and the plants grew, some literally blossoming, the atrium became one of my favorite places inside Genomex on a rainy or snowy day.

Early one morning, hurrying in from the parking lot anxious to inspect data from an overnight automated run, I was stunned to discover something added to the atrium décor. I walked around it slowly, taking it in, not really believing the subtle peace and mood of the atrium had been destroyed. A shiny brass plaque explained what had happened, if that was possible:

"The Eleanor Singer, MD, Memorial Fountain

She loved all the children."

Six bronze, life-sized children now gamboled and romped atop the main koi pond. One on a bicycle, pigtails flying (no hands!), two playing tag, another swinging a baseball bat (presumably at a ball, not at another child unseen), one reading a comic book (Donald Duck; no doubt a license fee had been paid), and yet one more standing before an easel painting some childish masterpiece.

My mouth must have been open. I know I wasn't paying attention to anything save this saccharine wretchedness.

"Isn't it lovely?"

I startled at the sound of Mason Eckhart's voice, freighted with sarcasm. I oculd not think of anything to say.

He continued, still walking through the atrium. "It all but brings a tear to the eye."

"Something like that…but not for the anticipated reasons. I still like the koi."

I heard Eckhart chuckle. Mason Eckhart could laugh?

I continued on to my lab. Samihah entered by another door. I sent her an email telling her to inspect the desecration of the atrium without describing the sentimental, idealized sculpture that had taken root overnight.

"Lunch will never be the same, Samihah."

"What were they thinking, Rebecca? Were they thinking? If I did not like children, I would not have two sons of my own, but this…"

"Someone was not thinking. Or they were not thinking on the right scale. If you work at keeping your head down, it's still possible to concentrate on the fish."

We were done eating. More employees than typical were in the atrium, gawking at the fountain. No one was going to speak loudly against Dr Breedlove's unfortunate taste, but muted giggles drifted through the crowd.

"I do like the fishies. I will come back for the fishies…Martina told me this morning the film crew will be here at the beginning of the month. We can expect a frantic clean-up memo any moment." Samihah tossed crumbs to the koi.

"We'll have to get the place looking the way it never does…and get nothing done while they are here. Media types always come into my lab because it's full of instruments. Civilians are impressed."

"Lucky girl. They avoid my area because it can smell so foul. I think I'll arrange to run the autoclaves daily to keep a reek suspended in the air." Samihah smiled slyly.

I lowered my voice. "What was Dr Singer really like? I have never heard anyone speak ill of her technically, but as a person, I've only heard Paul Breedlove speak well of her."

Samihah all but whispered. "And Adam. The truth is, she was cold…and domineering. Dr Breedlove was the only one who could begin to control her, and he did not do much because it was the Singer family money that founded the Breedlove Clinics and all the rest, way back in the beginning forty years ago."

"We'll never know the whole story of this place."

"I do not think I want to know, Rebecca. I have heard a lot of stories, mostly unbelievable, but they persist. There is supposed to be a subbasement, for example."

"So close to the lake?"

"I know. Seepage would provide an engineering nightmare, but the stories account for that as well: a barrier was constructed to keep the basement and subbasement dry."

"I've been down there. I've never seen any doors where doors should be."

"You've checked out the stories?"

"As best I could. Something to do while backflushing a recalcitrant gel permeation column on a Saturday afternoon."

Samihah laughed. "You do need more time in the real world."

"Quite likely."

Now, Samihah did whisper. "I have been told that the access doors are hidden behind closet doors."

"Intrigue upon intrigue."

"Genomex has never lacked for intrigue. Keep listening, and you will slowly acquire the Genomex Mythos, a rich body of tales and stories."

Paul Breedlove 

I stayed in my office until nearly 6.30 PM, when I could be certain nearly everyone had gone home. I wanted to be able to spend as much time at Eleanor's fountain as I desired, without being observed by dozens of employees. No one should be left in the buildings now except a handful of workers, cleaning crews, and Mason Eckhart. The latter two would leave me alone.

Only a few remarks had reached me about Eleanor's fountain as the day progressed, and those had come from sycophantic wretches whose opinions were meaningless, based upon calculated flattery. I made a mental note to determine which of them could be readily replaced. I did not need flatterers. With Adam gone, I had only Lili left to talk to about matters. Not that Mason would not be honest or that he was any flavor of flatterer, because he would be honest, just a little too honest for my liking.

I had photographs of the full-scale sculpture back in my office, taken before it was packed and brought to Genomex. They would have nowhere near the presence of a three-dimensional work, however.

Back in 1997, when I first conceived of a memorial to Eleanor, there had been no lack of heated discussion about how best to honor her. Just about the only thing everyone accepted without a struggle was the notion of building linked koi ponds, water gardens, and waterfalls in the atrium. Adam surprised me in suggesting all of that. He provided detailed drawings that were adapted largely unchanged. The only changes were dictated by practical requirements in bringing water to the ponds. Adam knew where to find the rounded stones to line the bottom of the ponds, and where to acquire the most extraordinary koi.

I miss Eleanor. I miss Adam, too. After all, with justification I could call him my son.

If only things had worked differently. Eleanor might not have died convinced she was a failure, or worse, and Adam might not now be living I hiding, but still working beside me.

No one became upset when I first decided to put up some kind of fountain to honor Eleanor. Ellie had loved fountains. The sound of water attracted birds and she kept a dozen feeding stations stocked around our house, different kinds of food to appeal to a variety of birds.

People suggested many designs for Ellie's fountain. Adam wanted to continue his vaguely Japanese theme of the ponds. Laura Varady suggested something geometric and symmetrical. When I asked Mason what ideas he had, he made a bitter comment about getting a pile of scrap steel, and running water over it and watching the heap oxidize to rust. What had Eleanor ever done to him? I was shocked.

One evening out walking, I found exactly the kind of sculpture I wanted for Eleanor's fountain. Newly added to a local park, I had no difficulty locating the artist and having a miniature model made for presentation to the atrium design committee.

That morning in 1998 had been chaotic. Accounting informed me of irregularities in the numbers relating to Adam's group, Mason was pressuring me once again for a perimeter fence after his people ran off three men with cameras, and in the pre-dawn hours someone had dropped off a healthy three month old girl on the Genomex front doorstep…who just happened to have intermittently orange eyes and who generated faint sparkings at her fingertips, obviously the progeny of two Children of Genomex.

Imagine! A Grandchild of Genomex! All Mason could say when he saw her was, "I'm not sure she's legally human, Paul."

The model sat in the middle of the oblong meeting table. Only Dr Laura Varady was in a good mood; only her morning had been untouched by crises. I knew I'd have to have a serious discussion later with Adam about the vanished money, and sort out the legal status of the foundling, and of possibly raising her on site. Mason was firmly convinced all hell would break loose over us if we gave her up to county authorities.

I hoped revealing the design might lighten the mood and make the balance of the day more tolerable. I pulled off the cover and smiled.

"Paul, it's so sweet!" Laura Varady cooed.

I expected Laura to like it. Years ago her office was all but papered over with her children's 'artwork', and now, her grandchildren's 'artwork' was beginning to assert a similar presence.

"O Dear God." Mason rose from his chair, and stood over the model, bending down to inspect the sculpture at close range, mere inches from the end of his nose. He silently took in all the fine details, then stood up straight, glared at me and stalked out of the room without saying anything more!

He never spoke of the design again.

"Adam?"

Adam half-smiled at me, looking nervous. He had loved Eleanor. She had been his mother. "It makes sushi of the koi, Paul."

"I've already commissioned the sculptor."

"Well, no matter what Adam and Mason think, I think it's sweet."

_Thank you, Laura_.

As I hoped, the atrium was empty as I entered it. I sat down and took in the mood of the place, sun setting and light turning soft and golden.

Artificial lighting was reduced to a minimum in the atrium to preserve a natural atmosphere, mostly involving recessed lights carefully aimed at the floor so people could tell where they were putting their feet down. The only sound was the muted splashing of the waterfalls. Eleanor would have liked this place, just as she would have liked to make children happy and healthy, as I would have liked to make children happy and healthy after the unspeakable acts I'd committed against so many of them in Germany and Poland…while still a child myself.

I pushed away the memories of the old country and railroad sidings. I was confused for a moment; were those my memories? Hadn't they happened to someone else, in a story, a movie? Surely, I had not be the servant, the instrument, of monsters.

Except that the memories were mind. If one knew where to look in certain history books, there were photographs of me working beside Mengele and others. Working willingly, by choice. I did not call myself Paul Breedlove in those times. I had another name, a name I deliberately tried to forget forever.

The koi were beautiful.

Now, I had even more to forget. Kurt von Schuler was fading from the records, an odd footnote to the black memory of the Third Reich, the child prodigy who tormented other children with medical experimentation. Now, if I thought lucidly through the past 45 years, Dr Paul Breedlove's legacy was immeasurably grimmer and more lethal than Kurt von Schuler's.

We kept baby Jean ('Gene') at Genomex. Mason was correct about not giving her up to county authorities. I had a nursery set up in Sublevel D where little Jean had medical supervision every hour of the day.

I thought of Jean as my grandchild. I even considered adopting her myself. I descended down to Sublevel D several times a day to see her.

I encouraged Adam to do the same. He was oddly detached from living, breathing mutants. He took blood samples from her the day she came to us, and determined exactly who her parents were, but he never saw her again. No one remembered seeing him down there.

But all the nurses remembered seeing Mason Eckhart there. Like lost souls drawn to stray dogs and cats, Mason was drawn to Jean. For different reasons, both of them were forced to live at Genomex, set apart from others by unwise science. Mason never spoke to me about Jean, but the nurses said he spent hours with her daily. She calmed down considerably, and rarely flashing her feral eyes, or giving anyone mild electrical shocks. He was the first to notice her decline after about five weeks. Much like himself, Jean's immune system failed, and like all young creatures, she was terribly vulnerable.

None of this became part of Genomex lore because the nurses had all sworn oaths of secrecy, and as federal employees, they were dispersed to different locations all over the country after Jean died.

Afterwards, I noticed Mason dropped all pretense of civility towards Adam. Adam had created Jean's parents, and by Mason's logic, was ultimately responsible for Jean. I often wondered what he thought of me.

Off in the distance, down one of the intersecting corridors, I heard voices. Loud voices. A high-pitched woman's voice, and perhaps two distinct male voices. How annoying.

I recognized Thomasina's voice before she came into view, but the two men with her were not employees.

"Dr Breedlove!" she trilled, smiling. "How pleasant to find you still here! I was giving Joe and Vince from Hypatia Productions a quick tour of the facility!"

Between the shrill voice, the unending smile, and the wearisome perky manner, I began to imagine how continuous exposure to this woman would give rise to…violent fantasies, the mildest of which involved a paper bag over her head to block the spectacle of that smile.

"You didn't tell me anything about this."

"I didn't tell anyone!"

The sound of multiple sets of heavy footsteps converging from three of the four corridors caught our attention.

"But you should have said something. You're about to find out why."

Mason could do a much better job of giving a lesson to this fluffhead than I could ever manage. I wasn't going to protect her.

She was still smiling when she turned to me and asking, "Security?"

I nodded.

Mason was wearing the same sort of business suit he wore all day. Didn't he ever change clothes?

"Paul. What is going on here? Security detected unbadged heat sources."

"And naturally, you thought Adam had returned for whatever he may have missed. Good guess." I turned to the witless Thomasina. "Ms Hobson, this is Mason Eckhart, who heads security. Mason, kindly inform Ms Hobson about our policy on badging."

"Everyone inside the facility must wear a badge, whether it shows or not; a heat source consistent with that of a human that cannot be linked to a specific badge will alert my people."

"Wow! You're quick! But I'm wearing my badge!'

"Very good, Ms Hobson. But they're not."

Thomasina was still smiling, but Joe and Vince were not. Mason's people were armed. My interview might just be flushing down the porcelain parkway, but at the moment, I did not care.

"Oh. They need badges?"

"They do. Some of the work we do here is done under a federal contract requiring this level of security as a minimum measure."

"I'll take them back and get badges."

"No."

"No? Why not?"

She was still smiling. Where was the closest paper bag? Ed's Buy and Fly Convenience Store?

"Because I don't know who they are. At this point, that matters."

"But they wanted to see the labs!"

"Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Touring the laboratories requires prior approval, and is rarely allowed."

"But-"

"Ms Hobson," I interrupted, "please don't argue. Return your guests to the front door with my apologies for any misunderstandings, and review security guidelines in the morning. Mr Eckhart is not being capricious or arbitrary, and you will not win this argument with him, be assured."

"But I wasn't arguing!"

Mason could be so firm. "Escort Ms Hobson and her guests to the front lobby. I am done with discussion."

I had not hired Mason to charm people, but to handle them, without wasting time or taking chances.

Thomasina shrugged, and meekly turned about, walking back the way she had come. One of the men –it doesn't matter which one-- said loudly, "Who was that scarecrow?"

Mason must have heard it. He also must have heard Thomasina's nervous giggle.

"That could have been a disaster, Paul."

"I know. But you and your people averted any breach."

"First thing tomorrow morning, I want this Ms Hobson scheduled in security to review the training tape on basic procedures for dealing with non-employees, and I want her to sign off on a training sheet. I have no interest in knowing why she brought these people in here, but if she does it again, I want a record of her past sin so I will be able to insist upon a suspension or a firing. You will back me, won't you?"

"I will."

"We have so much to hide here." He turned and walked briskly away from me.

His manner was becoming progressively colder and more distant. Dr Varady took both a professional and personal interest in Mason's well-being; no one else much cared. His job performance remained exceptional.

Only Laura Varady and I were left of the people who knew the way baby Jean dies.

When Jean's decline was obvious, and she was losing ground rapidly, it was Mason who sat up nights with her. Our nurses were the best, but Mason had bonded with the child. He got into arguments with Adam about Adam's efforts to keep Jean alive. That's when I had no doubt about how important Jean was to him, because he avoided contact with Adam.

There was no saving jean. Her heredity doomed her. When I got to work that black morning, the nurse supervisor, Nancy Kendrick, came to my office first thing and broke down crying, describing Jean's slow, painful passing, how Jean had died in Mason's arms. Mason was as aloof from the nurses as he was with anyone on site, but they recognized him for what he was, a damaged soul who related to a throwaway child.

Afterwards, he pushed for a program to round up all of the Children of Genomex. He also pushed Adam, whom he blamed not only for his own infirmities, but for Jean's short, abbreviated life.

I believe Adam did care about Jean. I do know he worked hard to save her, but he failed. Who among Genomex employees would believe Mason more capable than Adam of forming a deep emotional bond? Dr Varady and I knew the truth of it, but no one else would find it credible.

I will always believe Jean's death was the catalyst of Adam's departure. Between Mason turning up more and more financial irregularities and the vaguely accusing manner he used with Adam after Jean's death, Mason played a greater part in driving Adam from the company than he realized or would ever admit.

Bonding with Jean was the final human behavior I discerned in Mason. What a waste.

The morning after Thomasina's misadventure, I had waiting in my email a detailed memo detailing which corridors and which labs would be open to crew members of 'Heroes of Science', and which were off-limits. Overnight, Mason had coded a demonstration badge to replicate these limitations, and said working badges of this nature would be issued daily, but only after security was provided with a list of names the day before.

None of these measures were extraordinary, but between her security re-education, Mason's memo, and the tense meeting the three of us had that afternoon, I thought Thomasina might just stop smiling. But she never did.

Rebecca Steyn 

While I've always made a practice of listening carefully and observing the people around me, being an active, overt snoop was just too graceless. After all the years I'd spent at Genomex, I no longer had any doubts that some kind of extraordinary research was conducted on site. I didn't ask many questions; I listened and allowed the information to flow to me.

Sudden windfalls of data were rare, but memorable, such as the meeting with Adam going on about adolescent mutants. Genomex wasn't about better living through genetically engineered plants, but about the manipulation of humans. My impression was that the program had not gone well, and that some aspect of the project required armed security. Eckhart kept these guys on a short, tight leash, but they were not invisible.

Two mornings after the sudden appearance of the hyper-kitsch fountain, I was summoned to the front lobby to pick up the overnight delivery of a uv lamp for an HPLC detector, no doubt hand-crafted by Jolly Elves in the Black Forest, with a price tag to match. (Well, elves made some dandy GC columns in California, didn't they? The catalogues said so, at least until Agilent bought them out.) These lamps deteriorated sitting in a drawer unused so I did not maintain spares.

The receptionist was handing me my high dollar treasure when the double doors to the outside were thrown open behind me. Startled, I turned to see a tall, wide, middle-aged man drag a kid a head shorter than himself into the lobby. He made eye contact with me, and it was not pleasant: he was in a state of rage and disgust.

He pushed the boy towards me with great force. The boy stumbled and I grabbed him to keep him from going head first into the edge of the countertop.

"He's sedated, but that won't hold him for long. It never does. You people made him. He's your problem now."

He stomped back through the double doors.

The kid and I stared at one another for an awkward moment, then…I wasn't sure what was happening. At first, I thought the floor was sinking, then I felt my feet leave it until I was floating a full meter above the floor, ducking to avoid the ceiling.

A moment more, and I connected what was happening to me to the boy. I let go of him, and fell to the hard floor myself.

"I'm sorry, lady. I can't control it. Can you pull me down?"

He reached out his hand, and I took it, hauling him down to the floor.

"What did you do?"

"I don't know how I do it. It just happens."

The receptionist had not been sitting quietly doing nothing. I faintly registered her making a series of frantic phone calls. I expected someone to arrive shortly, I just wasn't certain who to expect, security or a medical team, or both. I knew I would appreciate potent sedatives shortly, never having levitated before.

There are punk kids and there are good kids. This boy, not more than fifteen, was one of the latter. Nothing in his voice or manner implied he was a smart mouth or much trouble for anyone.

"Who was that guy?"

"My father."

"Your father? What was he doing?"

"He couldn't have me home any longer?"

"Why?"

I never got an answer to that question. What looked like nearly all of the site's security pushed through the front doors and flowed in from the interior. The paramilitary types had weapons drawn.

The kid and I froze where we stood, until security pushed us apart and dragged the boy to the floor. One guy forced him to bend his head forward, exposing the back of his neck.

What happened next was very odd. A device reminding me of a glue gun on steroids was held at the base of the kid's neck just over the spinal chord, and then pressed hard against the skin, leaving a round, grey plastic plug behind. The boy screamed.

"Governor in place."

They all seemed a good deal calmer after that.

I wrested free of the guy holding me. "What are you guys doing?"

"He could be dangerous, Dr Steyn. You never know if their powers are poorly controlled, or if their powers are poorly controlled, and they're crazy. The crazy ones can hurt a lot of people in no time."

Well, wasn't that interesting, with its implications that what I had just witnessed was not a unique event.

They helped the boy stand up, rather gently, I thought, considering how they had muscled him into place before, and began walking him deeper into the building.

"Now what?" I asked.

"Now, we'll take care of him."

"That sounds ominous."

"Oh, no, ma'am. Very possibly, for the first time in his life, he'll be among people who understand him."

This fellow looked sincere enough. He had gorgeous brown eyes, a winning smile, and a straightforward manner a mother could be proud of. Then he turned, pulled down the collar of his uniform a bit, and showed me the plug on the back of his neck. Then he smiled again.

"We'll be good to him, Dr Steyn. Don't worry."

Security swept out of the lobby.

I returned to the counter to retrieve my Elven-crafted lamp.

"How often does that happen?" I asked the receptionist.

"How often does what happen?"

Oh. Games.

I plucked up the very special lamp, and stomped off not to my labs but to Dr Breedlove's office.

Dr Breedlove looked like a frightened deer when I walked into his office. He knew exactly why I was there, and what I had seen.

"Dr Breedlove, this is difficult to explain, but I've just been levitating, and I would like to know what that has to do with Genomex."

He looked even more afraid. I had never seen Breedlove look scared before.

"You don't know what you are asking."

"No. I don't. But I ask respectfully. I just floated three feet off the floor, and answers would be a good thing.'

"You know some aspects of our work are classified?"

"Of course. I signed the security oath, and I have never pried or told anyone outside these walls a single fragment or scrap of information or rumor."

He was quiet for a moment. "I can't tell you anything more."

"I'll tell no tales."

"I know you won't."

"I'm disappointed." I turned and left. I briefly considered returned to my instruments and installing the lamp, then thought of someplace…better to go.

The fact that Mason Eckhart had not shown for the capture or whatever I had witnessed screamed a great truth to me: the event was not unusual, and was unworthy of his immediate, personal attention. Such events had to have happened before, and must be expected to happen again in the future.

Eckhart's tiresome assistant tried to put me off the trail, but I would not take no for an answer. I was prepared to vault over his weaselly self.

I was finally shown to Eckhart's office, his new office, containing more steel and glass than I had ever seen in an office anywhere, especially considering this one had no outside windows. Still under construction, the back wall consisted of plywood, shattering the futuristic effect.

Eckhart was seated. He looked resigned to some fate.

I did not wait for any oily Corporate Speak. If my time was wasted, I wanted to know and know immediately.

"I've been levitating."

"I know."

A sliver of honesty. Not a bad start. But not the place to stop, either.

"I've never floated up to graze against ceiling tiles before. I want to know what this boy has to do with Genomex."

"You're well aware that much of the work at Genomex, past and present, is classified."

"Very much aware. I will not be put off by 'need to know' nonsense."

"You may not believe me, but I have no wish to lie to you. I am uncertain how the truth will benefit you."

"I want the truth."

"The truth is not pretty. If…I tell you, you will be changed. When you walk out of here, you will be someone else."

I could not be sure if he was being honest or setting me up for some fantastic lie, but I couldn't allow him a chance to think too much."

"Tell me the truth."

"About thirty years ago, Paul Breedlove began tampering with the DNA of fertilized human eggs, with disastrous results for the individuals born of those eggs. He largely backed off that work until 1978, when Adam joined the company. The project was started anew, this time with far more…subjects, mercifully tapering off circa 1985."

"That boy was one of the last?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"I am uncertain. Some details they keep from me."

"How many?" I was insistent.

"No fewer than one thousand, possibly very many more, maybe thousands more, each of them flawed…damaged…many families traumatized or destroyed by their existence."

"That's obscene. Why did they make so many?"

For the first time, he hesitated. "I asked Adam. He could never provide a satisfactory answer. Anything I told you would be a guess. But you worked with him. You know what he was like once he thought he was correct about anything."

All too well. Adam entered Stanford at twelve, and never got over it. During the time I knew him, he did not seem to understand there were a lot of smart people in the world, and that he had a high likelihood of working with them at Genomex. This kind of arrogance not only made him no friends, but drove four good researchers I knew to find other jobs.

"Is the boy a prisoner here?"

"We do not have that authority…yet, but in effect, yes, he is a prisoner. Perhaps a better term is protective custody. Once certain conditions are met, that changes."

"Conditions?"

"He'll be taught how to control his abilities, or if they cannot be controlled, he'll be permanently implanted with a device to neutralize them. Something we also do with the mutants who come to us is assure them they've done nothing wrong in merely having these abilities. Many are abused by their parents."

He averted his eyes. Something about this part was difficult for him.

"For some, Genomex is the first place they've been accepted."

"That's sad."

"Yes. Such is the world. Many of the older ones work here. Ironically, Genomex is one place where they are not oddities."

"I'm surprised none of them didn't murder Adam."

"I did not say…no one tried. And that is all I dare tell you."

"How much more is there?"

"Do a literature search on transhumanism and draw your own conclusions."

Paul Breedlove 

By the time production crews arrived at Genomex, the labs and offices were gleaming and orderly. I could not help but hear the grumbling and whining about the days of real work lost to the clean-up efforts, but people always complain about something.

Eleanor's roses were at their seasonal best, colors deepened by the cooler days and nights. The garden made a splendid backdrop for my interview.

I talked about my student days in Austria, which was not a complete lie; I did attend grammar school there. 'Heroes of Science' did not need to know the finer points of my education.

Standing in front of Eleanor's beautiful fountain, I described the establishment of clinics nationally, making thousands of otherwise doomed pregnancies successful and making thousands and thousands of children reach adulthood whose genetics otherwise condemned them to a childhood death.

I never imagined Mason would listen to me but during the days he and his security teams followed the crew around while filming in the labs, he showed up wearing a grey suit, different glasses, and a brown wig. I had forgotten what he had looked like … before. He was quite presentable, and I told him so at the end of the first day.

"Mason, you should consider adopting the look of your former days."

He didn't say anything. He just glared at me and stalked off.

I hardly know Tswett from Jennings, but the tv people wanted footage of me doing something they called "high techy" that would look great on the tube. We trooped on into one of Dr Steyn's labs and searched for a suitable backdrop, settling on one of the 6890 GCs.

They first filmed me typing at the computer controlling it. I thought Dr Steyn was going to claw my eyes out when she saw I was typing in what she called "Methods View". She pulled up a data file from eight months ago, and turned me loose.

I don't like computers. I'm not comfortable with them.

The footage of me at the keyboard was deemed dull in an age when people have computers in their homes, so they insisted I should introduce sample into the instrument.

Dr Steyn wrinkled her nose. "We do that with autosamplers now. Results are vastly more reproducible."

"It's just for looks. This used to be done with a hand-held syringe, didn't it?"

"Yes."

She found a syringe, a slim, cute dainty thing too small for my hands. While I played with her toy syringe, she wrestled the injector tower from the top of the instrument.

"The injection port is hot, Dr Breedlove."

I made a few injections of air with the toy syringe before hopelessly bending the needle, which was glued in place.

The toy syringe did not impress the tv people. "Do you have a really BIG syringe?"

"I have a 50 mL Mother of All Syringes that we use to prime the aging Waters pumps."

She really wanted to replace those pumps. I had heard this lament before.

"Could you get it?"

This syringe was enormous, and I was told, highly photogenic.

After going through the motions of making an injection, I turned around to ask the tv crew how it looked, in time to see Dr Steyn rolling her eyes in disbelief at Mason! She recognized him! Nobody else did.

Certainly not Thomasina, who hovered close by me throughout, cooing, chirping, making happy sounds (distinguishing her actual words became intolerable during the second day) and smiling broadly.


End file.
